


The One Where John Watson Actually Figures Things Out First

by mychakk



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 100 percent Johntent, Do NOT copy to another website, F/M, Humour, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-03-30 22:01:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19036447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mychakk/pseuds/mychakk
Summary: That's one way to get back at Sherlock for informing him and Mary about the pregnancy during their wedding reception.Or, as the tilte says:The One Where John Watson Actually Figures Things Out First.





	The One Where John Watson Actually Figures Things Out First

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amalia Kensington (amaliak01)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amaliak01/gifts), [Writingwife83](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writingwife83/gifts), [MizJoely](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/gifts).



> This little ficlet has been inspired unknowingly by artbylexie and writingwife83 and their latest small collaboration on the May drabble. This one is not connected to theirs at all, but came to be thanks to it. 
> 
> Also, huge thank you to MizJoely who took time to look over this little piece and came up with the tilte. She also assured me it's funny and I hope it is. I always feel humour is not my strong point...
> 
> Anyway, happy reading! :)

xxx

“So, Couvade Syndrome?” John asked as his best mate finally left the stall in the men's loo.

Sherlock just shot him a ‘what are you on about?’ look.

“You know…” John continued. “The sympathetic preg-”  

“I know what Couvade Syndrome is!”

Sherlock huffed as he moved toward the sink and leaned over to rinse his mouth.  

“And…?” John promoted expectantly as he watched his friend closely.  

Sherlock frowned at him as he spit the water. “And _what_?”

“Is it? The Couvade Syndrome?” John asked with a smile.

Sherlock frowned at him. “Why are we talking about Couvade Syndrome?”

“Because, you _know…_ ” John gave him a meaningful look. Surely the cat was out of the bag now.

Sherlock blinked then promptly rolled his eyes. “I'm not pregnant!”

John snorted. “Well, of course not, it's not possible, but-”

“We aren't expecting.” Sherlock denied flatly as he washed his hands.

John's eyebrows raised. “Really? I could have sworn you are, based on the symptoms.”  

“What symptoms?!” Sherlock whirled to face him, “There are no symptoms!” Then he promptly swayed, as if dizzy. He swallowed, clearly nauseated once again by the sudden movement.

John only looked at him pointedly. “Actually there _are_. Quite a few from what I've observed.”

“Oh, _observing_ , are you now?” Sherlock sneered.

John ignored him. If Sherlock wanted to play it this way, so be it. “Firstly, you have been quite tired recently.”

“I have not,” Sherlock huffed as he dried his hands aggressively.  

“You have," John countered with a ghost of a smile. "You even fell asleep in the cab yesterday on our way back from New Scotland Yard.”

Sherlock straightened and shot John an indignant glare. “I did _not_!”  

“Yes, you did.” John's smile turned into a smirk. “You even snored.”

Sherlock glowered. “I do _not_ snore.”

John’s smirk got even more pronounced as he shrugged nonchalantly. “Sorry mate, your former flatmate here, so I would know, unfortunately, as you do have a tendency to fall asleep on the sofa in the common area. You do snore.”

Sherlock’s brow furrowed even more as he glowered at John for a second or two, then suddenly his face smoothed and he shrugged his shoulders. “So I was a little tired, that doesn't mean anything.”

John nodded. “Yes, on its own, but there are other symptoms,” he added knowingly.

“Oh, really? Like what?” Sherlock mocked him.  

“The coffee, for one.” John replied conversationally.

“What about the coffee?” Sherlock asked in a bored tone.

“You've been avoiding it like a plague.” John said simply.

Sherlock frowned. “No, I haven't.”

“Yes, you have-"  

"No, I've-"

John pointed a finger at him. "You actually asked Molly to bring you _natural_ water today, for Chrissake! All while grimacing whenever you could smell even a hint of Bart's coffee. _And_ it’s been going on like that for quite some time.”

“They do make a real sludge in here, as you well know.” Sherlock sniffed.  

“True." John agreed. "But it's never stopped you before, especially when Molly brings you a cup.” John raised his eyebrows meaningfully at his best mate.

Sherlock sniffed. “She just knows how I like it.”

“Sure she does.” John allowed with a condescending nod. “That's why you grimace whenever you take a sip.”

Sherlock huffed with a roll of his eyes. “This doesn’t prove anything.”

"So you've just suddenly decided to stop drinking it?" John raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"I haven't stopped drinking it!" Sherlock shot back.

"Yes, you-" John stopped and took a cleansing breath.

"Anyway," he started again and promptly flushed. "There, um, there is, there's also the matter of your ah,”  here John made a vague gesture around his- “um, chest area.”

“What!” Sherlock glared at him. “What do you mean my chest area?!”

John looked around the loo. “Well, you know, your ah, your, um, a… a…” his voice lowered to a whisper as he mumbled, “breasts.”

“I do not have breasts!” Sherlock yelled in an oddly high voice as he covered said breasts with his crossed arms.  

John smirked sheepishly. “Well, actually we all do have them, but yours well, ah, they, ah, got ah, bigger…”

“No, they haven’t!” Sherlock’s crossed arms tightened even more on his upper torso. “And why the hell are you even looking at my breasts!”

“I'm not looking at your breasts!” John shot back, embarrassed and probably red faced. “But it's hard _not_ to notice them when your buttons pop out out of a sudden in the middle of the day, almost taking my eye in the process!”

“It's happened only once! And it was because I had been wearing that tight aubergine shirt Molly likes so much.” Sherlock defended.  

“Yes, and it's clear why it got even tighter recently." John told him pointedly.

Sherlock glowered. "Was Mary aware of your interested in my tight shirts? And apparently _my breasts_? As flattering as it may sound-"

John glowered back with dark stare. "Dammit, Sherlock, don't be a prat."

"I'm not the one with whimsical ideas!" Sherlock shot back.

"They are not whimsical!" John yelled. "Didn't you say it? When you eliminate what's impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?"  

Sherlock's eyes narrowed at his own words being thrown back at him. "And from all those supposed clues you've come up with me having Couvade Syndrome?!"

"Yes!"  

"It still doesn't prove anything!" Sherlock moved as if the walk around John.

"Oh, for Christ's sake! There is also the obvious, your nausea and vomiting!" he shouted pointing to the stall Sherlock had just walked out of a couple of minutes before.

Sherlock paused, searching John's eyes. "Could be a stomach flu." Sherlock tried, but he paled even more so as the truth started to finally sink in.

"Is it?" John asked him gently. "You bolted from the lab the moment the chemicals were opened as if hell's hounds were on your heels."  

Sherlock gave him one last dirty look. "And you had to follow me, didn't you?"

John smirked at him. "Don't I follow you wherever you go?" Then he sobered slightly. "I was quite surprised when you ended up in the nearest men's toilet and a little worried as you tried to empty your already quite empty stomach. Have you been vomiting a lot?"

Sherlock shifted. "Maybe. But I'm not- we're not. Molly hasn't said anything. Hasn't been acting off, I'd have noticed. There have been _no_ symptoms."

"Well…" John started with an amused smile.

Sherlock shot him a glare.

"Right." John looked down with a nod. Then he looked back at his best mate. "So, you _really_ didn't know? It's not just to put me off? I thought you two were trying to keep it quiet, actually."

"Then why did you confront me right now if you'd thought we wanted to keep it quiet?!" Sherlock demanded.

John huffed. "Sorry for being worried about my best mate."

Sherlock's shoulders sagged. "Yes. Well. I… We didn't know. God. You really think it's Couvade Syndrome?"

John gave him a sympathetic, no pun intended, smile. "Looks like it, mate. But you'd better confirm it with Molly first."

"Yes…" Sherlock nodded. "Yes, of course. I… Molly!" He straightened. "She's working with chemicals! She shouldn't be working with chemicals! Or anything dangerous! She shouldn't be working at all!"

John's eyes widened. "Sherlock…!" But before he could say anything more his best friend was out of the toilet leaving him behind him.  

Well, it's better that Molly sorts out her husband's notions about expectant working women herself, anyway.

Then the Army Doctor smiled.  

Ha! That's one way to get back at Sherlock for informing him and Mary about the pregnancy during their wedding reception. Mary would have had a field day with this, if she had been still alive! He smiled fondly, she had always shipped those two even if he could never take her seriously with her matchmaking ideas. Should have known better, Mary was always right. Even now, he laughed quietly, as he recalled some of her outlandish ideas about their friends’ prospective procreation.

But, still, leave it to Sherlock and Molly to be not only clueless about their upcoming parenthood, but also to have the expectant father show all the symptoms while the mother was symptom free. Those two idiots. He loved them anyway.

He grinned as he left the toilet himself.

Another little one in their family! Rosie would have a cousin to play with and Sherlock and Molly would be wonderful, if quirky, parents. No doubt about that. Then his grin widened even more so.

Wonder if Uncle Mycroft already knows?

xxx

End.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so hit me! Hope itade you smile at least once!


End file.
